


Feathers of Green

by bluetoast



Series: Birds of a Feather [17]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Deaf Character, Deaf Dean Winchester, F/M, Gen, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1450141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holidays are strange things - some are good, some are bad. Important dates that matter to some and are unimportant to others. The annual Ambrose End-of-Summer dinner. It's Dean's first - and he has to say - the Ambrose Clan is quite different from the family he used to know. (August 1990)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers of Green

They were an odd pair. One boy was blond-going into brown and scrawny, the other, slightly taller, black haired and sturdy looking. Dean didn't think much of his cousin Aaron being bigger than him, even though he was younger. Aaron had spent his childhood in a stable environment – and eating well in Gran Ambrose's Italian kitchen. Dean was catching up to him in size though, and if he always remained a little smaller, well – that wasn't exactly something he could fix, could he?

Although the protective behavior sometimes annoyed him. But as Aaron had two younger sisters, Dean could sort of understand where it came from. And the world was full of stupid people who had 'ideas' of where 'deaf people needed to be.' 

August was an insanely cruel month in terms of weather. Maryland was hot and muggy, the air thick and heavy – Dean half expected to find chunks of it on the ground like hail. Virginia wasn't much better and all one could usually think of doing was finding a way to cool off. Of course, with the crowd in Gran's house at the moment, being inside was almost as bad as being out. So here he and Aaron were, up in a massive maple tree while their younger cousins tried in vain to discover where they were hiding.

It wasn't that they disliked their cousins (or sisters, for that matter) but at the end of the Ambrose spectrum of kids – the whole number of Gran and Grandpa's brood at what Dean felt was a very impressive twenty-five – the ones close to their age were _all_ girls. The nearest boy cousin Aaron and Dean had was sixteen – and he wasn't going to hang out with the two of them, being that they were ten. “I don't think any of them can climb this tree.” 

“Jennifer can.” Aaron clung to a branch, looking down for a moment as the smallest of the girls, five year old Molly, paused to lean against the trunk and folded her arms, pouting. He looked back at Dean. “Don't make a sound.”

Dean gave him an incredulous look. Like he could tell if he did or not. He nodded in response and looked down. He had to wonder if the girls were calling out for them – forgetting, once again, that he was deaf. A moment later, Molly took off at a run. How could she run in this wretched heat? A breeze swept through the tree, the faint smell of dinner cooking inside wafted with it. A moment later, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aaron repress a chuckle. “What's so funny?”

“Your stomach just rumbled.” He sighed and looked down. “I think it's almost time for dinner.” Aaron began to climb down towards the ground. 

Dean followed and once down, they headed for the house. The girls had vanished, no doubt heading inside as well to escape the near oppressive heat. When they came inside, they found that Aaron had been right – dinner was about to be served. Once hands were washed and grace was said, the Ambrose Clan set about to two of the three things Dean felt they did best: eating and talking. While the dining room table could seat twelve and the breakfast nook another six, dinner was eaten at long card tables in the basement – which sat the entire company of forty-six with ease. 

The meal was salad, lasagna and garlic knots. Not sitting with mom and dad was a little odd for Dean – while he did it at lunch time at school, dinner was different. While it'd been nearly nine months since eating his fill was a rare event in his life, Dean still ate in the slow, methodical way of making the food on his plate last as long as he could. So he wasn't too surprised when he was half done when most everyone else was on their second helping. He wasn't at all surprised when a second serving of bread was dropped on his plate by Aaron. He looked up, smiling in thanks. 

Aaron sat down in his place across from him, grinning. “I thought I'd bring you one before they're all gone.”

Dean nodded, his mouth full of lasagna. _“I don't get how some of you can eat so fast.”_

“It's Gran's cooking. I don't eat this fast at home.” He turned his attention to his plate.

For his part, Dean pulled the garlic knot open, inhaling the wonderful scent of fresh baked bread, spices and butter. He knew that things seemed twice as fragrant to him, owing to his sense of smell making up for his lacking one of hearing. He used the bread to sop up some of the amazing sauce in the lasagna, closed his eyes and ate it. The rich taste of bread, tomatoes, oregano, and a host of cheeses was Heaven. He would never tell her, but Gran made better lasagna than Mom. 

Dean was on his second helping of dinner when most all of the cousins had vanished from the basement for dessert – and while he'd like to go upstairs and watch the Orioles game with the rest of his cousins, he knew better than to leave food on his plate. He looked across the basement to where some of the adults were sharing a bottle of wine and talking about – something. It was hard to tell, his lip reading still needed work. He was almost startled when his oldest cousin, Moria, (the oldest child of Mom's oldest brother, Uncle Alexander) sat down across from him, holding what was most likely a third helping of food.

“Hope you don't mind.” Her ASL was about as good as Aaron's – which was above average. “But I can't stand to sit and watch them drink wine when I can't have any.” 

He nodded back in reply, only glancing for a moment at the woman's barely-there baby bump. He politely returned his gaze to her face. _“You're not having dessert?”_

“I'd rather have another helping of Gran's lasagna to ice cream any day of the week, even if it's over a hundred outside.” She grinned and took a large bite. _“Unless it's bread pudding.”_

 _“The bread pudding is glorious.”_ Dean replied, he could still remember the first time he had it, back in February. _“What are they talking about?”_

“The state of affairs in Eastern Europe.” She said around a mouthful of salad – thankfully she was signing and speaking at the same time. “It is not going to be long before the USSR falls apart.” 

He slowly nodded, remembering when he watched the news back in the foster home about the Berlin Wall coming down. Every now and then, he had to wonder if Grandfather Winchester and Grandfather Campbell had fought in World War Two, like Grandpa and Granddad did. It was funny – when Mommy died, the rest of John's family seemed to vanish. Mommy never had much family – at least that she'd let them see. He wondered what happened to them. He used the last of his garlic knot to sop up the last of the sauce and dressing on his plate, deciding that dessert was going to be out of the question. 

*  
The field was a sea of blankets and the Ambrose clan took up the swath near the crest of a hill. Dean wasn't entirely sure what the occasion was – the family had been having their end-of-summer dinner. Something he was told that was invented years ago as a way for Gran and Grandpa to have all their kids and grand-kids over once a year for a meal – without tying it to another holiday. The nearby town of Mananas – it was some sort of important day for them, Founder's Day, maybe...

Dean kept his head tilted upward towards the sky as the still-muggy night sky came alight with showering fireworks. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see some people covering their ears as explosion after explosion went off above them. Mom was sitting on his right, her gaze shifting between him and the sky and Dad, on his left, was turning off his hearing aides and grinning like he was Dean's age. 

School started next week. Dean absently wondered for a moment how many times he'd have to correct people and tell them his last name wasn't Winchester, but Coulter. He'd never be a Winchester again. He let out a breath, hoping that John would remember that it was time for Sammy to go to school. 

Then again, when it came to Sammy, John almost never failed.


End file.
